


Any other word

by AirgiodSLV



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-18
Updated: 2008-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He’s glad he didn’t know about William’s questionable lifestyle choice before they met, because he’d had this vision in his head of what Shakespearean actors were like, and frankly he wanted nothing to do with those weirdos.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Any other word

**Author's Note:**

> Shakespeare festival AU. For [](http://adellyna.livejournal.com/profile)[**adellyna**](http://adellyna.livejournal.com/), who wanted some OTP and Gabe being jealous. Thanks to [](http://maleyka.livejournal.com/profile)[**maleyka**](http://maleyka.livejournal.com/) for being consistently awesome and looking this over.

“Ho, Laertes,” Gabe says when he hears the door open. William’s head pokes into the kitchen a second later, makeup still smeared in darker spots around his hairline.

“Hey,” he says. Then, after a considering pause, “It smells like pizza.”

“In the fridge,” Gabe tells him, kicking back from the table. “I saved you half, plenty of olives. How was the show?”

“We had a few blue-hairs, but it wasn’t too bad. No one got accidentally stabbed in the gut with a blunt poniard this time.” William fishes the pizza box out of the fridge and puts it on the table between them. “How was work?”

“Meh,” Gabe says honestly. “Not all of us get to gallivant around on a stage quoting classic literature for a living. Don’t you finish the run soon?”

“One more down, eleven to go,” William confirms. “They’re going straight into _Romeo & Juliet_, though. Auditions are on Friday.”

“Hey, at least you won’t be working shitty temp jobs for a few weeks,” Gabe says, toasting William with what’s left of his Corona. “You think they’ll give you that…dude, what’s that guy, you know? The one in the miniskirt.”

“Mercutio,” William answers between bites of olive. “Not a chance. I’d love it, but I’ll be lucky to land Benvolio.” There’s a pause in which Gabe stares blankly across the table waiting, and then William clarifies, “Hawaiian shirt guy.”

“Oh, hey, he’s cool,” Gabe says supportively, although all he really remembers is yelling and a vague silhouette. William is way too skinny to be Hawaiian shirt guy. “You’d look better in the miniskirt.”

William rolls his eyes, but Gabe’s been his roommate for over two years now, so he’s immune. “Somehow I don’t think our production is going to have the same concept.”

“Too bad,” Gabe says. “I would have totally come for Claire Danes.”

~

Living with an actor is sometimes weird. Gabe never knows when William will be there, from day to day, and sometimes he eats, sometimes he doesn’t, and sometimes Gabe’s leftovers vanish mysteriously in the two minutes he was using the bathroom without a single other sign that William was ever there. He talks to himself and spends a lot of time looking in the mirror, and occasionally – usually on audition days – there are strange exercises involving a lot of humming sounds and bendy yoga shit.

Today’s an audition day, so Gabe steels himself beforehand. He also makes sure to wake up early to get ready for work so that he can sit on the couch with his coffee and watch.

He’s not saying he’s got a hard-on for his roommate. He’s just saying that William doing that ‘I am a swan’ thing or whatever is not something that should be missed.

He’s glad he didn’t know about William’s questionable lifestyle choice before they met, because he’d had this vision in his head of what Shakespearean actors were like, and frankly he wanted nothing to do with those weirdos.

Luckily they’d met at a party, and Gabe had been looking for someone to share his lease, and it wasn’t until the second week of cohabitation that Gabe had finally asked, “Hey, so, what do you do, man?” and William had invited him to come see _Much Ado_ at their city’s somewhat prestigious Shakespeare Festival.

Two weeks after that had been the first of what Gabe mentally calls ‘bendy yoga shit’ days. He’d had a heart-stopping moment of ‘oh shit, I am so fucked,’ and then William had smiled, which hadn’t helped any, but then William had accidentally kicked over Gabe’s coffee and they’d spent ten minutes trying to remember retired paper towel jingles as they mopped up, and by the end of it Gabe had been back in a positive mindset.

It’s been two years now and William has never missed a rent check, so Gabe considers it a good decision.

He pours himself a cup of coffee – already brewed, William’s a stickler for using the automated timer – and wanders out to the living room with a Pop-Tart held between his teeth. William’s wearing pajama pants and an old band t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off that might once have been Gabe’s, and he’s got his hands and his feet planted on the ground, humming good energy out to the universe. Gabe recognizes this one; William calls it a Sun Saturation or something. Gabe calls it ‘Ass In The Air Fun Time.’

Gabe settles in on the couch as William arches his back and huffs out little good-energy-into-the-universe breathy moaning noises.

A good decision indeed.

~

William has another show tonight, and Gabe’s toying with sending him a text asking if he wants to meet up at the bar when he busts in the door panting.

“I got called back,” he says, before Gabe can start the conversation off with, ‘So where would you prefer to drink tonight?’

“Of course you did,” Gabe says. “You’ve been in every production for the past three years. You’re one of their, whatever, core people.”

“I’m a Player,” William says.

“Right, exactly,” Gabe says. Then, “Wait, did you get called back for miniskirt dude?” William is always thrilled about new productions, but he doesn’t usually get this wide-eyed over a callback. He always gets a callback. He doesn’t always look like he’s about to hyperventilate.

“No,” William says. “No, not Mercutio. Not Benvolio, either.” Gabe’s about to ask when William finally bursts out, “Juliet.”

“What?” Gabe asks, because it’s been a while since high school, but last time he checked, Juliet was a chick.

“They’re doing a traditional, all-male production. They called me back to read for fucking _Juliet._ ” William’s still doing the hyperventilation thing. Gabe pulls out a chair just in case.

“Was it the hair?” Gabe asks sympathetically. “The slim, girlish hips? Dude, it was totally the hair, wasn’t it?”

“No,” William says, sounding a bit miffed. “They told me I had guileless delivery and believable androgynous appeal. That’s not the point.”

“What’s the point?” Gabe asks, and then realizes belatedly that perhaps William means he’s supposed to offer congratulations. He can’t remember if he’s done that already or not.

“I haven’t studied Juliet,” William explodes. “I didn’t think I would ever have to read for it. I didn’t even study Romeo, I skipped all of their fucking scenes. The callback is _tomorrow night._ ”

“Dude, relax,” Gabe says, holding up his hands. He maneuvers William into the chair with a few carefully-placed nudges, and watches him fold like a house of cards. “You’ve got the book?”

William looks at him like he’s a fifteen-headed Hydra. He does that sometimes when Gabe questions his endless supply of musty leather-bound literary classics.

“Right,” Gabe says. “So chill. You get the book, I’ll get the beer. Let’s learn this shit.”

~

Gabe is pretty sure that there is no universe in which William being Juliet will ever not be funny. After the first week of rehearsals, William politely disagrees with him on this, but Gabe is not to be dissuaded.

“Hey baby,” he says when William answers his cell. “You up for a show tonight? Or does Juliet need her beauty sleep?”

“I’m flipping you off right now,” William informs him. “Rehearsal ‘til ten, why? What did you have planned?”

“My brother’s business partner’s boyfriend’s friend’s brother’s band is playing a gig tonight, I said I’d check it out,” Gabe says.

“Sounds complicated,” William comments.

“Nah, they just scream a lot, I’ve heard the demos. So, rehearsal? I can be late, you want me to pick you up?”

“I can meet you there,” William offers somewhat dubiously. Gabe thinks they’re probably thinking of the same show last month, when William said he’d meet Gabe there and then got lost in the red light district for two hours.

“Meet you at rehearsal,” Gabe says. “Ask if they’ll let you borrow your rehearsal skirt.”

“Ha ha, you asshole,” William says. “Bring me a clean shirt. Not the pink one,” he says, before Gabe can reply. “Black. Black or you have to drive me home so I can change.”

“Women,” Gabe says. “You’re all the same. Two hours in the bathroom, the outfit has to be just right, your hair has to be perfect…”

“I’m not bothering to flip you off this time,” William says. “I’m just hanging up.”

~

Gabe’s picked William up at the theatre often enough to know his way around the stage door. There’s a keypad on the door into the rehearsal spaces, but the combination hasn’t changed since last time, so he gets in without any trouble.

He checks the stage first, but William isn’t there. Jon is, and a few others Gabe recognizes vaguely from other productions. Jon’s friend Brendon, and Brendon’s friend Ryan, and Ryan’s friend with the beard who played Garbanzo or something in _Merchant of Venice._

Jon and friends are holding swords, so Gabe keeps a safe distance and offers up a placid, “Heeeey.”

Jon is B-F-F with William’s ex, and since Gabe hasn’t seen him a lot since the night William came home with red eyes, refused to talk about it, and ate his weight in ice cream and cheese puffs, Gabe assumes that Tom got Jon in the separation settlement.

He doesn’t know what else went down, but they don’t go to Golden Egg on Friday nights anymore for bottomless shrimp noodles and buy-one-get-one-free imported beer, and William hasn’t missed a show at this place but Tom dropped out after the one with the mimes and poodle skirts, so Gabe’s guessing they’ve divided territory to mutual agreement.

Whatever keeps Tom away obviously hasn’t stopped Jon, but he’s usually more of a behind-the-scenes guy. Gabe assumes he’s there to hand out props until the little bristling guy – Urie – calls out, “Do you bite your thumb at me, sir?” and then, “Your thumb, sir, do you bite it?” and “Dost thou even think of biting thy thumb?” and Ross finally says in a bored tone, “Jon, you have to actually bite it or he won’t stop.”

“Oh, right,” Jon says, looking startled. He sticks his thumb in his mouth and looks sheepish. Urie goes after him again, and it would be fucking hilarious, such a little guy taking on two at once, except that Garbanzo – Smith, that’s it – looms up behind him and all of a sudden things get a lot more intimidating. Gabe is impressed. Jon and Smith even have some serious facial hair going. Ross and Urie look like they might have some serious facial hair going in another ten years or so.

Ross sighs. “Line?” he prompts.

“It’s Jon’s,” Urie volunteers. “I do bite my thumb, sir.”

“Right,” Jon says. “You’d think I would remember that one.”

“Since when are you onstage?” Gabe asks, because it’s not like they’re getting any serious rehearsal done here.

Jon runs a hand through his rumpled hair. “They lost Wilson,” he explains. “I wasn’t…I mean, I’m not usually, but Ryan, uh…”

“Walker,” Gabe says, “if that sentence ends with ‘bribed me with blowjobs,’ I don’t really want to know,” and ignores Ross’ glare with practiced ease.

“It’s one scene,” Jon says, shrugging. “They told me mostly I just wave a sword. It looked cool.”

“Awesome,” Gabe says. “Where’s Billvy?”

“Studio 2, working dialogue,” Jon answers, waving a hand towards the left – or right, Gabe never remembers which is which – side of the stage.

“Thanks,” Gabe says, hopping up onto the stage. “Sorry, carry on.”

“Let’s go back,” Urie says. “Draw thy tool!”

Jon glances sideways before Gabe can even open his mouth. “Don’t say it,” he warns. Gabe holds his hands up in surrender and goes to find William.

~

Gabe gets a little lost looking for Studio 2, but it turns out fine, because what he does find is Andrew. It just takes Gabe a second to recognize him, because every time he sees Andrew the dude’s changed his hair color.

“McMahon,” Gabe says by way of greeting. “I’m digging the blond scruffy surfer hobo thing.”

Andrew smirks at him. “You only wish you could do as much,” he says, which is true, because Gabe’s attempts at facial hair end up looking even worse than Urie’s. Andrew strokes his baby goatee and says, “Mercutio. I’m growing it out.”

“It’ll look great with the miniskirt,” Gabe compliments.

Andrew laughs. “No way, dude, my legs don’t look anywhere near good enough in heels. That’s Bill’s problem. Bet he’s glad he doesn’t have to wear a horsehair beard this time.”

“You have no idea,” Gabe agrees. “His legs look fabulous, though. So hey, dude. Where the fuck is Studio 2?”

Andrew walks him down the hall and they hover for a minute respectfully before Andrew cracks the door and ushers him in. They’re in the middle of a scene when Gabe walks quietly in and sits down, and he has to stifle laughter almost immediately, because William is actually wearing a fucking floor-length skirt. He’s also in some dude’s lap, which quite frankly is nearly as funny all by itself.

“Stay yet,” William is saying, and his hands are doing that coy, shifty thing that women do when they really want you to spend the night and maybe fuck them again before breakfast in the morning. “Thou need’st not to be gone.”

There’s a low, rumbling laugh that Gabe recognizes instantly, and William sits back on his heels enough for him to finally see that the dude William’s sitting on is Travis. Gabe automatically makes a note to call and see if they can squeeze another one into the club, because there’s no way he’s going without Travis now. They’ve all been friends since _Othello_ two years ago, which Travis followed up by playing Oberon at the beginning of last season, and Gabe’s glad to see him back in a leading role. Travis is a fucking amazing actor.

William crosses his arms and looks annoyed, which only makes Travis laugh harder. It is a pretty ridiculous expression on a dude whose hair is falling in his eyes, not to mention one who happens to be wearing a skirt and straddling another dude’s lap.

“Billy,” Travis says gently. “Billy, you suck at this.” He has his hands on William’s waist, leaning in a little, and the resulting battle of squirming and head-turning is almost a little too authentic, until Travis finally gives up and backs off.

“All I’m saying is that you’re a bro. Nothing wrong with that,” Travis says, “but you are. You’re a bro and you’re acting like what you think a chick should act like, and it’s coming across like you’re in a porno. A really weird porno, too.”

“Then what?” William asks. “Because I’m trying here, I am, but you’re…”

“Hey,” Travis says, and his voice is rumbling again, slow and syrupy. “Hey, baby. Just play it like you want to get a dude into bed with you, because that’s all you’re doing. That’s all this is.”

William holds eye contact with him for a moment, and his expression gradually fades from antagonism into something that could almost be called a pout, if William would ever lower himself to such an expression.

Travis laughs and hauls him closer, so that their chests brush and the ends of William’s hair are brushing his cheeks. William’s smiling a little now, hands on Travis’ shoulders and spine softened from rigidity. “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Travis says. “Talk to me, baby.”

“Wilt thou be gone?” William asks, hesitant, and it sounds completely different, like he’s just asking the question. Gabe abruptly understands what those callback dudes meant when they said ‘guileless.’ Forget twenty-two, William looks and sounds all of about seventeen. Travis’ hands have settled huge and heavy on his hips, and their heads are tilted together because Travis is whispering sweet Shakespearean nothings into his ear.

Gabe has a sudden flash of emotions he usually only experiences during bendy yoga shit time. This time, though, it feels a little bit uglier. It feels a little like Tom.

And, well. Shit.

~

Travis comes out with them to the bar to see the show, which is great, because Gabe can go back to thinking of him as _Travis_ and not _Romeo,_ or more accurately, ‘that guy with his hands all over William.’

The memory of the impassioned French kissing is a little more difficult to get rid of, but Gabe’s working on it. He’s got this.

“I shouldn’t stay late,” William says when they’re inside getting drinks. “We’ve got rehearsal in the morning, I have to be up early.”

William’s got rehearsal 24/7 these days, it seems like. Apparently playing the title role means being on call every single moment. Gabe misses Laertes already.

“We took my car,” he points out. “I said I’d stay for the whole set to give my brother a report.”

“I can get a cab,” William offers.

“No worries,” Travis intercedes. “My ride’s here too, I can take you home whenever.”

“You’re not actually Romeo,” is what Gabe absolutely does not say. Accordingly, William doesn’t give him a funny look right after he doesn’t say it.

“I know where your crib is, man, it’s not that far from here,” Travis says easily.

“I know where yours is too,” Gabe points out. “In the opposite direction.”

“Wow, testosterone,” William says. “Shots?”

“You ain’t actually Juliet either, princess,” Travis says with both eyebrows raised, and just like that the tension is gone and Gabe can laugh.

“Bros before hos,” he says mostly to himself, and endures William’s aggrieved punch to his arm as probably deserved. Besides, William hits like a girl.

“Liquor, Jules,” Travis orders. The lights go down and there’s a sudden crush of people along with the first squeal of fresh feedback. Gabe pretends not to notice the easy way Travis cradles William protectively against his chest when the crowd pushes them towards the bar.

“Wait,” William says a beat later. “Is this them?”

The band onstage is actually good, so Gabe hadn’t thought they’d started yet, but when he looks up at the stage he sees Mikey bobbing along with the beat, and a lead singer that he vaguely recognizes as the brother.

“Shit,” he says. “I promised to pay attention.”

William laughs, and ducks under his arm a second later with two shot glasses and a smile. “Shall we?” he asks.

Gabe hooks Travis with his other arm and they head into the crowd.

~

“So,” William asks with more of that completely ineffective guilelessness when they get home. “What was that whole thing with Travis earlier?”

Gabe, it so happens, actually has a plan for this. Drunk or not, and he’s really not, once William starts shooting him curious looks for a decent amount of time, his brain kicks into overdrive and starts churning out bullshit.

“I’ve just been thinking, what with this whole Juliet thing,” Gabe says, and nobly ignores the way William automatically rolls his eyes. “We haven’t gotten in our usual amount of one-on-one time, you know?”

“You invited Travis,” William says. He sounds a touch suspicious. Gabe’s brain steps it up a notch.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying, a relationship like ours takes hard work to maintain. There’s a certain amount of care that needs to be put into it, into a good roommate relationship, and I think maybe ours is slipping a little.” He’s impressing even himself tonight, honestly.

William keeps considering him for a minute. Then he says, “So what, you want more personal time? Just us?”

“That’s exactly it,” Gabe agrees enthusiastically. “Roommate bonding time. For a healthy relationship.”

William’s lips quirk upwards, not enough to actually be called a smile yet. “You want to schedule a date night.”

“Yes,” Gabe says emphatically. Then, “Wait, no. What?”

“You know,” William says lazily, waving a hand. “Movie, drinks, just the two of us. Basically a date night.”

“A roommate bonding night,” Gabe says firmly. “With manly drinks. Not pussy girl drinks. And manly action movies. Date nights have shitty chick flicks and short films in foreign languages.”

William rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says. Then, “I accept your proposal.”

“Thank you,” Gabe says, because William is being prissy, so Gabe can totally get away with that shit too. Then his brain catches up a little and he says, “Wait, to what? To the roommate bonding, right? Not the date thing.”

“Yes, Gabe,” William says. “Roommate bonding. Maintaining our delicate relationship.”

“Excellent,” Gabe says. “Thursday night?”

“Rehearsal,” William says.

“Friday?” Gabe tries. He already has a good idea of where this is going.

“Rehearsal,” William says apologetically, but dives right back with, “Sunday morning, at least until previews, and then we can change it.”

“Done,” Gabe says with satisfaction, and announces in ringing tones, “Let the roommate bonding commence.”

“You’re such a dork,” William says, but he has no room to talk, and doesn’t bother ducking out of the way when Gabe gives him a noogie.

~

Sunday is great. The following Sunday is great. The problem comes the Sunday after that one, when Gabe asks, “Ready for some bowling?” and finds William in a state of wide-eyed panic.

“I can’t remember any of my lines,” he says, gripping the front of Gabe’s jacket. “None of them. Nothing.”

“Hey, woah, slow down,” Gabe says, pretending not to be slightly alarmed. William doesn’t get frothing-at-the-mouth crazy very often, but when he does, there are usually casualties. “You don’t have rehearsal.”

“I have previews,” William says. “Previews tomorrow. Previews _with audiences._ ”

“Okay, yeah,” Gabe says. “But…”

“I need to…shit. Fuck. I just need to go look at the lines,” he says, and disappears back into his room.

Gabe pours himself a glass of water and waits. A second later William reappears, still looking shaky but slightly more sane. “Okay?” Gabe asks.

“Yes,” William says, and then freezes. “Wait. Go, get thee hence, for I…”

Gabe opens his mouth, but William’s already vanished. From the direction of his room, Gabe can hear something that sounds like the chanting of Gregorian chipmunks on speed.

He hangs out for long enough that the chipmunks finish a soliloquy, and then sets his glass on the counter, walks down the hallway and raps on the doorframe.

William looks up, startled, and Gabe smiles. “Hey,” he says. “How about we say fuck bowling and run some lines?”

William goes limp with relief so fast that Gabe is briefly concerned. He goes still a second later, though, and says tentatively, “You hate running lines.”

“Whatever,” Gabe deflects. “It’s bonding time. We’re maintaining our relationship. A little blood can be shed for the cause.”

William’s smile spreads slowly. “Okay,” he says. “Sure. Thanks.”

Gabe holds out a hand. “Book. And go get me a drink, I’m going to be talking a lot.”

William hands over the battered play text and slips past to the kitchen. Gabe makes himself comfortable out on the couch and flips through until he finds the first page covered in an insane amount of highlighter and pencil scribble.

“What, Juliet!” he yells towards the sound of ice clinking into glasses.

“How now, who calls?” William calls back, and they’re off.

~

Gabe only realizes he’s made a slight tactical error once they hit the big scenes. And the thing is, he knows these lines. Every kid in the Western world knows these lines, even the ones who haven’t had an actor playing Juliet muttering to themselves for the past three weeks in their apartment.

He makes it past holy palmers and hands kissing and the thing with lips, but he does it by very strictly not thinking about Travis and the way he’d rolled William underneath him and made William laugh. He’s not even turned on by the idea of William in a skirt, for fuck’s sake. The Juliet thing isn’t his kink.

The William thing, though, is a different story.

“Give me my sin again,” he reads, and then looks at William’s lips, _oh shit,_ and his mind does a white noise buzzing kind of thing that only clears when he finally hears William prompt, “Skip to the next scene?”

“Right,” he says. William’s on the floor, stretched out with his legs crossed daintily at the ankles, face tipped up towards Gabe on the couch. His eyes are closed when he reads, which means Gabe has an unfortunate habit of getting distracted looking at his mouth and his cheekbones and the snubbed curve of his chin.

“I can start this one,” William says. “There’s an ‘ay me’ and then we jump to the ‘O Romeo, Romeo.’”

Gabe only has to listen for a while, barely grazing the text to make sure William stays on track. His voice, for the record, does not crack. He’s way too old for that juvenile shit. He does however get to the line “O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” and something in his brain which usually does not respond to Shakespeare in any manner whatsoever screams, _Sex! They’re talking about sex!_

William’s eyes crack open, just a fraction, and his lips turn up at the corners. “What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?” he asks, and Gabe suddenly has no fucking idea what those squiggles are on the page in front of him.

He tries to cover by clearing his throat and saying, “I think you’re supposed to be up here for this scene, actually. Balcony.”

He knows he’s failed in the covering department when William smiles wider and says, “You could always come down here.”

Gabe is a smooth-talking red hot Latin lover and no one is ever allowed to say differently. He’s just having some coordination issues at the moment. He’s also still working past the mental block that says William’s his roommate and only available for ogling when wearing pajama pants and doing Sun Sanitation or passed out on the couch with his glasses on again and therefore unable to notice.

He looks down at the play, then up at William. “Shit,” he says. “I am such a fucking cliché.”

William laughs. “Get down here,” he says. “I know the rest of it now.”

Gabe moves slowly, in case William’s idea of coming down here didn’t actually mean settling in between his legs and loosely cradling his face, but William doesn’t protest, just tilts his chin up. He looks like a teenage girl asking for her first kiss. “Is that how you do it for Travis?” Gabe asks, cracking up a little.

“I will knee you in the balls,” William tells him sincerely. Gabe takes the hint and kisses him.

It’s not exactly fireworks and choirs of angels singing, but Gabe’s also not going anywhere for a long, long time. William’s mouth is warm and wet and far more familiar than it should be, considering, and Gabe thinks they might be breaking the record for the world’s longest first kiss.

Eventually, when the first kiss has turned into second kiss has turned into ‘making out and heavy petting,’ William arches back a little and says with a frown, “You’re coming to the opening, right?”

“Are you kidding?” Gabe asks, mouth mostly occupied with exploring a seriously sweet spot on William’s neck. “And miss Ryan Ross in a floppy hat waving a sword?”

“Shut up, he’s always wearing a floppy hat,” William complains, but Gabe is pleased to note that it’s somewhat breathy. “I mean it.”

Gabe tilts his face in the correct direction and kisses him again, deep and lingering. “I’m there,” he says. William bites his lip gently, and Gabe takes the opportunity to get their hips a little more friendly with each other.

He can’t wait for Travis to find the hickeys at rehearsal in the morning.  



End file.
